


Atonement (Long Version)

by Starboundwanderer



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: F/M, Hades and Persephone AU, I apologize for my stunning lack of impulse control, extended version of my original, here you go, in that Michael and I are identical, the extended version no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-10-11 01:16:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17437115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starboundwanderer/pseuds/Starboundwanderer
Summary: Michael makes a rash choice that changes the path of their lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to expand on Atonement because I felt there was more to tell. Hope ya'll enjoy!

  The forest was lush and green, save for one gnarled, dead oak.  It was in the shadows of this that Michael Langdon watched, willing himself to be invisible to the rest of the mortal world.  A few feet away, where the trees were sparse and the beginnings of a meadow, a girl walked.

  Flowers bloomed where her feet had been, and she smiled as she tilted her head back to bask in the sunlight.  She was quite pretty, he noticed, but then again all Cordelia’s little witches were.  

  But Michael wasn’t interested in how pretty she was.  No, he was interested in her power.  There had been stirrings among the dead and living of a witch who was incredibly powerful—a witch who could reverse time itself.  He could feel a soft power emanating from her, but it wasn’t anything special.  He was doubting his instincts saying she was anything other than an average witch.  

  Yet he waited. And watched.

  She made her way gracefully across the meadow, and finally,  _finally_ , made it to the deer.  It had been shot and was slowly bleeding out—he could feel its life slipping away, untethering itself to the earthly realm.  She gasped and raised a hand to cover her cover her mouth as she came across the dying creature.

  His footsteps made no sound and left no tread as he creeped up to watch.  Her delicate face went from shock to dismay.  He wanted to roll his eyes.  Mortals always acted so surprised when something died, as if it weren’t prophesized from the day they were born.  

  He watched her face set itself in determination.  She knelt and place her hands above the gunshot wound.  A wave of strong, undiluted wave of power hit him so strongly that he stepped backwards.  He watched in shock as the wound knitted itself together and the deer became smaller, reverting to a fawn.

  The girl only smiled at the creature.  It rubbed its head against her palm and then shot into the woods.  Michael stared in utter shock as she stood and wiped dirt from her dress.  

  There was a witch more powerful than any before.  A witch who would soon take the crown of Cordelia Goode.

  And she would be his.  He felt it in his soul—or whatever part of him resembled a soul—that they were simply meant to be with each other.  Equals, with someone who could understand the burden of great power.

  But she was starting to walk away, back to her coven.  Michael knew he had to act fast; Cordelia would never be too far from her precious witches, and he’d lose her forever.  This opportunity to have her would never come again.

  Before he could wonder if it were a good idea, he made himself visible, transmutated behind her, and wrapped his arms around her small frame.  

  They had disappeared beneath the earth before her scream had finished.

  She broke his grasp as soon as their feet touched the marbled floor and scrambled away.  Her screams for help drowned out his explanations and reasons, and when he tried to help her up, she used her telekinesis to fling a thick book at him.  He easily stopped it with his own telekinesis, but it was...too easy, he noted—she should’ve been able to throw the whole bookshelf at him.  Then he realized, between her scrambling away and hitting him with wave after wave of her powers, that this was not even close to the amount of power she’d wielded Above, the power that had almost knocked him backwards.

  But the curiosity he felt at this was deeply overwhelmed by the disappointment.  She’d finally stopped screaming and was standing in the corner of his office, eyes holding the madness of a wild animal that had been caged. 

“Please—just let me explain!”  He cautiously put a hand forward to show he meant no harm, which was obvious—if he’d wanted to kill her, he certainly wouldn’t have brought her to his home, his kingdom.  “My name is Michael Langdon, and I—”

  But he never finished the sentence.  While he’d been focusing his energy on her, she’d been slowly working the winged-back chair from its position by the fireplace.  He didn’t notice it was moving until it knocked him over.  She made a sprint for the door—laughable, honestly, as if she had anywhere to go—but he quickly recovered and stood.  

  With a few steps, he was behind her, hand on the back of her head.  He mumbled a spell under his breath and she passed out.  He caught her, one arm under her shoulders and one under her knees, before she hit the ground, and yelled for the lesser demons.  Two appeared quickly in their puffs of curling purple smoke.  If they found it surprising that their king was holding an unconscious witch like she was his bride, they didn’t show it.

  “Yes, Master?” Cassian, his personal servant, said as he stepped forward.

  “Take her to the largest room in the south wing,” Michael commanded, gently putting Mallory in the lesser demon’s arms.  She shivered in her sleep at the coldness of Cassian’s skin.  “And if she’s harmed in any way, I'll rip your dark little hearts right out.”

  Both of the creatures nodded and began walking down the hallway.  He sank into the chair she’d moved, pinching the bridge of his nose.  Granted, he had come up with his plan to make her queen quickly and had acted hastily, but it wasn’t supposed to go like this with screaming and fighting.  She was supposed to listen to him, to  _understand_  why he’d done it, and then accept her place next to him as queen.  Perhaps she would subvert more of his expectations; he hated to admit that gave him a thrill to think of—someone defying him, surprising him after all this time.

  “Sir,” he heard from the doorframe.  He looked up and saw Cassian with his hands folded behind his back.  “She’s asleep in her room.”

  “She’ll be asleep for a few more hours with the spell I used,” he mumbled.  “Thank you, Cassian.  You may leave.”

  But the lesser demon didn’t move.  He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.  Michael bit back a sigh.

  “Is there anything else?”

  “Yes.  Soneillon is at the gates, sir.  He insists on being let in.”

  He groaned, letting his head fall back against the chair.  Soneillon was the fourth prince of hell who tempted humanity with hatred.  And Michael did not want to deal with him today of all days.

  “Send him away.”

  “We tried to when we saw you were...occupied, but he got belligerent.”

  “Did he hurt anyone this time?”  The last time the fourth prince had been denied access to Michael’s kingdom, he’d thrown a fit and hurt several of the lesser demons under Michael’s care.  

  “Halfling!” he’d yelled from the gates.  “Let me in!”

  Michael had finally obliged, and when his brother was in the Throne Room, he’d torn him to literal bits for daring to lay a hand on any of the creatures in his charge.  Of course, being immortal, he’d pieced himself together and come back a few days later, but cleaning up the mess had been a headache.

   Cassian shook his head.  “We all came back inside when he seemed to be getting out of hand.”

  “Good.  Then we just ignore him until he gets bored and leaves.”

  “But sir—”

  “Cassian.  That’s an order.  I don’t want him in the manor right now.”

  “Because of the girl?” the lesser demon guessed.

  Michael grit his teeth.  “Yes.  Because of the girl.  Now leave before I throw you over the gates to Soneillon.”

  He closed his eyes and listened for the sound of his servant’s shoes against the marble and the click of the door as it shut.  He could feel Soneillon pounding against the gates as if he were being punched in the head over and over again.  But his wards were up, and though they were a bit weaker than usual, they were still too strong for any of the other princes to break through.  Nothing got in or out without his say-so, and his brother would just have to come back another day.  Or never at all.  Michael didn’t really care either way.

  After a while, it stopped, and he felt the tension leave his body.  The wards cost him constant energy and surveillance, but it was worth it to have a way of keeping his kingdom safely to himself.

  He wandered around for a bit, going to the library, the Throne Room, the kitchens, all to avoid where he desperately wanted to go—her room.  He wanted to look at her again, wanted to reach out and touch her.  He could still feel the weight of her in his arms, see the fire that burned in her eyes, the defiance in her gait and set of her jaw.  

  She was not the docile creature he’d taken her for; she was a fighter.  And it absolutely delighted him, the challenge of it all.  He’d have to  _work_ for her to love him, to see who he was and how she was meant to be his queen.  He couldn’t wait to have her look at him with love and trust, to have her sitting in a throne as his equal.

  He waited and meandered, doing meaningless things to distract himself, until he finally heard Cassian say, “Master, she’s awake.”

 A slow grin spread across his face, one he knew the creature in front of him couldn’t comprehend.  It was finally starting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mallory wakes in a strange world.

She woke feeling a heavy weight on her chest.  Mallory gasped in shock at the deep pain she felt radiating through her limbs.  It was as though she had a concrete slab on top of her body.  She turned her head to the side and moved over the other side of the bed, heart pounding and eyes wide. 

  “Who are you?” she asked.  There was a petite woman staring at her with unblinking, dark eyes.  The woman stepped forward into the light from the lamp on the bedside table.  She wore a long, black dress and a thick rope of pearls around her neck.  

  “I’m Mira, your handmaiden,” the woman answered.  “I’m at your service, Mistress.” 

  “My—what?  What’s happening?” 

  She could only remember healing a deer, arms around her waist, and then it all turned into a blur.  Mira stepped forward and helped her sit up.  Mallory jumped when the handmaiden’s hands touched her; they were as cold as ice and brought goosebumps to her skin. 

  “I have a lot of questions,” Mallory said as she swung her feet to hit the floor.  It was black marble with veins of gold and silver shooting through, and she shivered as her bare feet hit the ground—was this whole place  _cold_? 

  “Master can answer them for you.  He’ll be in the Throne Room judging souls right now,” Mira told her, wrapping her arm around Mallory’s waist to help her stand.  As soon as she was stable, the handmaiden released her and began walking silently to wherever the Throne Room was.   

  The hallways were lavish and grand with high ceilings, a rich blood-red rug rolling with the black marble peeking out on the sides, and the walls shiny black with silver scones set at even intervals.  She felt like she was falling down an endless void being surrounded by dark colors and the dizzying effect of no windows.  

  Their path twisted and turned until they came to a set of giant, cherrywood doors.  Mira flicked her hand they opened without a sound.  

  Despite all that was happening, she couldn’t help but gape at the opulence of the Throne Room; it was like walking into a dark church—the cathedral-like ceiling had three massive silver chandeliers, thick columns disappeared upwards, and a raised platform sat at the end of the rug that continued to roll out from the hallway.  There was a throne made of what looked like ruby, but it was the man on the chair that interested her. 

  He was stunning, perhaps the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.  And the look he gave her—as if he was about to devour her—made her heart pound and her palms sweaty.  When they got closer to him, she realized she wanted to reach out and brush his blond hair behind his ear, but the fascination was the like wanting to touch a strange, poisonous flower—the dark temptation was all in the fact that she could get hurt by touching it. 

  “Welcome home, my dear,” he purred. 

  Her mind raced with questions, but only one managed to escape: “Where am I?” 

  “Home,” he answered simply.   

  “Where is ‘ _home’_?  And who are you?”  She ground her teeth and crossed her arms.     

  A slow, devilish smile spread across his face.  He stood and took deliberate steps towards her.  With his predatory look towards her, she felt like a gazelle being stalked by a lion.  But she refused to give up her ground, to concede to him.  He stopped when he was close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his body. 

  “You’re in the Underworld, where you belong.  I’m Michael Langdon, and you’re my queen.” 

  “You don’t even know my  _name_.” 

  “Mallory.  Cordelia Goode’s favorite student.  The most powerful witch on earth.”  He began circling her.  “My equal.  My queen.” 

  “That’s—wait.”  She rubbed her pounding temples.  Memories of what had happened came rushing back—him kidnapping her, trying to calm her when they first got there, and then the feeling of his magic coursing over her skin when he used a spell to put her to sleep. 

  She took a step back.  “You stole me away.” 

  “Saved you,” he said softly, voice desperate. 

  “Stole me.” 

  He mirrored her as she walked backwards.  She kept a safe distance between them, and when he got too close, she flung a wave of power at him.  It was much weaker than her magic had ever been, and it left her shaky. 

  He had the audacity to look offended. 

  “I offer you everything—my kingdom, my heart, my  _soul_ —and you reject me like this?” 

  “Thieves get nothing,” she spit at him before turning on her heel and running from him. 

  Mira, ever the faithful handmaiden, silently lead her to her room, where she drew a bath.  Mallory let the hot water loosen her muscles and release some of the tension she was carrying in her very bones.  Tears fell down her cheeks, and she kept trying to wake up from the nightmare she was in. 

  But it didn’t happen.  Every time she squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them, hoping to see the white, welcoming walls of Miss Robichaux’s, she only opened them to the black of the Underworld.


	3. Chapter 3

  He sensed her walking through the manor—when he concentrated, he could sense all souls in his domain, and hers burned like the sun against all the dim, half-souls of the lesser demons.   

  She spent her days wandering.  Avoiding him.  She’d see him coming, set her jaw, and then turn the other way without a word.  

  “Give her time, Master,” Cassian told him. 

  Michael had gone to his office and started pacing, occasionally throwing something at a wall.  The lesser demon had come in to get him for dinner, but after seeing his master so upset, he’d sighed and sat down in one of the wing-back chairs. 

  “Why does she need time?” Michael snapped.  He kept walking length of the room. 

  “You did bring her to an unfamiliar place rather...unwillingly.” 

  “She  _belongs_ here.” 

  Cassian put his hands up in surrender.  “I’m not denying that, Master.  But this is a whole new world to her, and mortals need time to adjust to unfamiliar things.” 

  “What do you know about being mortal?”  Michael flopped down in the other chair.  He stared into the fire, barely resisting the urge to set the whole room ablaze—it’d easy, barely even a thought in the back of his mind to burn it all down. 

  “More than you, apparently.” 

  “I’m half-mortal and I lived among them for over two decades. I think I know more than you.” 

  “You haven’t been Above in years—you've forgotten what they’re like, how difficult change is for them.  You’ve let yourself become a bit sedentary down here, My Lord.” 

  Michael scoffed.  “When did you get so analytical?” he mumbled, resting his chin on his palm. 

  “Working with you means I have to be.” 

 

  He sat at the long dinner table with the decadent food tempting him, but he refused to eat without her.  He slammed his fist onto the table, making the silverware and plates jump.  He took long strides to the double doors; several lesser demons moved silently out of his way, tucking themselves into corners until he’d passed. 

  At her door, he hesitated, fist raised and trembling.  He worked up his courage and knocked.  The rings on his fingers made the sound hollow to his own ears.

  No reply.  He knocked again, more forcefully this time. 

  “What?”  Even through the door he heard the bite in her tone. 

  “It’s time for dinner.” 

  He could hear the sound of thick blankets being tossed and bare feet padding to the door.  His heart pounded as she got closer, and when she threw the door open, glaring murderously at him, he gave her a slow, devious smirk. 

  “Has me not being there the past week not been hint enough?  Or do you need me to say it?” 

  He leaned against the doorframe, one arm braced above his head.  They were so close that scarcely a hand would’ve been able to fit between them.  

  “Say it,” he whispered. 

 He kept his coy mask over his features as she leaned in a little.  But he couldn’t help but breathe in her lavender scent as she brought her face close to his. 

  She met his gaze as she said, “I don’t want to see you.  Ever.” 

  He didn’t even realize he’d raised a hand until it was brushing her jaw.  She jumped and moved backwards.  It pleased him to see she was a bit breathless—he was too, but he hid it better. 

  “Mallory, I think that’s a lie.”  He stepped close to her again.  Some part of him was desperate to be close to her again. 

  “I hate you.” 

  Her chest was still rising too fast, and her pupils were blown.  He wondered if her heart was beating as fast as his.   

  “Liar.” 

  “No,” she spit at him.  “You are horrible; you kidnapped me, and forced me away from what I knew, and you just...”  She stopped, tears in her eyes.  He watched the hurt in her eyes turn into fury, which was why he wasn’t surprised when her hand raised up to slap him. 

  He caught it without looking away from her eyes.  The smile slipped from his face, and he tossed her hand aside.  Ungrateful, he thought.   

  “You’ll join me for dinner every night, and if you aren’t there on time, I‘ll have the lesser demons drag you in there.” 

  He turned and walked away. 

  “Fine!” she yelled.  She slammed the door after he’d walked out.   

  He barely noticed as Cassian joined him. 

  “Excellent, Master.  I’m sure she’ll be falling in love soon.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discovery is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have ~*~* no excuses~*~* for why this took so long. Also, yes, I will Be updating Wonderland soon :)
> 
> Slightly different format! POV changes halfway through.
> 
> TW: hunger, starvation (though not graphic in any way)
> 
> I’ll format properly (italics, mostly bc my phone was disloyal and took away my formatting) when I’m back on my laptop! This was made on my phone, so please forgive any typos or grammar mistakes!

_Mallory_

She stared at the food. Her stomach clenched and mouth watered, but she looked away from the temptation.A week here and she hadn’t touched the food of the Underworld.She felt a rumbling in her gut, and she prayed her sisters and Miss Cordelia would get her soon.

There was a sharp sound as Michael speared his steak.He gave her a pointed look. “You’re wasting away. Eat.”

She glared at him, and in a moment of anger, she knocked over the wine glass in front of her.It made a dark stain that looked horribly like blood across the white tablecloth.

“Queenie told me what happens when you eat the food of the Underworld. I’m not stupid, Michael.”

He gave her a curious smiled. He paused his own dinner, set his elbow on the table, and rested his chin in his hand.Perhaps it was just the low lighting or her own lightheadedness but she was again struck by how beautiful he was. 

“And what exactly happens when you eat the food from here, my dear?” His tone was quiet and playful, as if this were some sort of game. And she certainly didn’t miss the slight insinuation in his tone and the way his eyes looked her up and down.She fought a shudder—he was all sin wrapped up in a pretty package.

“You’re trapped here forever.  Body and soul,” she spit.  She pushed the plate of food away, easing the temptation a bit.

“Obviously not true.”  He laughed, reaching for a piece of fruit in a bowl, and popped it in his mouth.  She looked away and back at the ruined tablecloth.

He was lying.Yes, he was a good liar, but somehow she could tell his words were false. As a being half of this world, he  could eat the food and be fine. 

She stood, sending the chair to the floor.Her hands shook at her sides.He looked only mildly bemused by her outburst.

“Liar.”That was all she got out before turning on her heel and leaving.She heard Mira’s shoes clacking softly against the marble as she followed behind.

Once in her room, she was overcome with a wave of tiredness, and she lowered herself in the ruby-colored chair near the fireplace, which was crackling and bright—Mira noticed she got cold easier than the rest of them and kept the fire going constantly. 

She had gone hungry before. She’d once gone a month eating only what she could steal from vending machines, so she was well acquainted with the gnawing in the pit of her stomach, even if it had been several years since she’d felt it.This feeling was different. Yes, her stomach rumbled, but there was something else—a weight on her chest, a shakiness in her muscles, and a dizziness that she associated with staying up for too many hours.She put her fingertips to her forehead.

“Mira?”Her voice was soft, but the demon was there in a flash. Her dark eyes were wide with worry and her pale lips were in a thin line.

“Yes, Mistress?”

Mallory’s throat was tight and her eyes watered.She hated—absolutely hated—being helpless, but as she took a breath and the room blurred out of focus she knew she didn’t have another option.

“Can you help me get changed for bed?” she asked quietly.

The handmaiden nodded.“Of course.” 

 

_ Michael _

“Liar.” She has thrown the word at him, practically spit it like a venomous snake.

And yes, he  was lying—if she ate a single piece of food from Underworld she was there for life, physically and spiritually.It was normally irritating to him if someone saw through his lies, on the incredibly rare occasions it happened, but if he were being honest, he found himself thrilled by the fact that she  knew he was lying.In his mind this was proof they were meant to be together.

And then he’d watched her walk away.  The black silk of her dress had flapped behind her, and her bare feet padded away down the hall.  He gave one curt nod to Mira before the lesser demon followed.

He leaned back in his chair and waved his hand.The food disappeared.He touched the tips of his fingers together and rested them against his lips.The image her Mallory, thinner than she should have been after only a week of not eating, wouldn’t leave his mind.

She’d obviously lose weight if she didn’t get over her stubbornness and simply eat, but her cheeks shouldn’t have been so sallow and her collarbones not so prominent.His brows furrowed as he sifted through the possible meanings of this.

Normally when he looked so deep in thought, the lesser demons knew not to bother him unless it was an emergency.So when little Mira cleared her throat, he immediately began checking his wards, feeling them out with his magic.When he felt no gaps or disturbances, he frowned at her.

“Yes, Mira?” he asked.

She had her pale hands clasped tightly and she stared at the floor.He wanted to scoff at her timidness.He might throw a fit or break a few things, but he’d never been cruel to his lesser demons, beyond the occasional threat, which they all knew rang false.

“Master, it’s about Mistress Mallory....”

He sat up straighter.“Is she okay?”

“Oh, yes! Sleeping like the dead, sir! But I helped her change into her nightgown, and...well...” she waved with her hand for him to follow her. 

Chest tight with anxiety, he followed after her, practically running to his Mallory’s door.He wanted to knock it down with a burst of power, throw it off its hinges with his telekinesis, but Mira’s soft hand on his arm stopped him.She held a finger up to her lips, flicked her fingers, and opened the door with her own magic. It swung silently, and he strode in after her.

Mallory was sleeping with her back to the door.A candelabra was lit, giving him enough light to see her hair spread across the pillow and the dark blankets pulled up over her body.He narrowed his eyes at the lesser demon, wondering what this had all been about.She walked over and gently moved the blankets.

Mallory wore a white, semi-sheer nightgown.Mira pointed at her back, and Michael took a step forward.He had to hold back his gasp as he finally realized what he was seeing, what had the lesser demon so worked up.

Barely noticeable in the faint light were two long, thin scars running parallel to his Mallory’s spine.  He reached a hand out and lightly ran a finger down then, half thinking they weren’t real; they simply couldn’t be real.  She shivered beneath his touch but didn’t wake.

“Leave,” he commanded the lesser demon.His voice was barely above a whisper but held no room for defiance.She nodded and left, shutting the door behind her. 

He used his magic to silently bring a chair to the bedside, still staring at the scars.They were angel’s marks, the place where the wings were supposed to be.They were too precise to be anything else—he doubted any accident Above could make such defined, straight scars.

He’d seen them before on the Fallen Ones—those who’d defied God and been cast from Heaven—and on angels masquerading as humans.  But she couldn’t be an angel because he wouldn’t have been able to take her like he had; their very skin wouldn’t seared at each other’s grasp, and she definitely wasn’t one of his father’s army of Fallen Ones.

Then a thought formed in his head.  A dangerous, yet enticing, thought.

What if she was like him?Only half human? It would explain her powers, why Cordelia didn’t wane in the face of such ability, and why she seemed to be weaker here. 

He ran his thumb up a scar.Yes...like him...

Of course he couldn’t prove it yet.This was all just speculation, though he had a gut feeling he was right.With a determined sort of sigh, he pulled the covers over her body and went to the library.There was a lot of work to be done.


End file.
